The Shadows Within
by ShadowX3
Summary: An eighteen year old is haunted by a mysterious force throughout the last decade of his life as the number of corpses he leaves behind grows. As the body count grows, a detective slowly tries to find a connection.


**Chapter 1**

There I stood, at the base of the stairs. I stood still as the dark silhouettes danced around in the small house I was in. The house was so dark that the blood that had been spilt from whoever dwelled in it looked as if it had joined the dark silhouettes in the hallways. One could hear the wind blow against the windows, and if you really concentrated, you could hear the drips of blood falling onto the wooden floor, creating a small puddle. The stairs were bloody and at the top laid a woman's mangled body, bent and misshapen. Her limbs were twisted and contorted in such a way no human body could be displayed. I looked right at her from the bottom of the stairs. I looked into her eyes, the eyes that held life just moments before, was now lifeless. Still, it stared back at me; I was the last thing that she saw. It has had always been this way for the past decade of my life. Then I felt that familiar movement behind me though no one could see it, I knew I was the only one who felt its ominous presence. The shroud that felt so dark and cold, devoid of any warmth surrounded behind me. Then I felt that familiar touch of an ice-cold touch greet my shoulder. It was the reaper that had followed me throughout the decade I've been alive, if you can call it that. With that feeling, I hear him whisper the dark thoughts that I try to shut out, but I know that whatever he speaks is the truth, and I can't deny him. Things were not always like this.

I was eight a decade ago. A time when I think I was innocent, when I was sheltered. The most I worried about was missing my favourite cartoon shows. I remember the night; my parents were driving my brother and I back home after a dinner out. Back then; I had a fear of the night. Not because of the dark, but because of what happens at night. You read and hear stories of murder and thievery, of evil going on at night and usually at night. So it's understandable it was something I found frightening. My father decided to play a trick on me that night. When we arrived home, he and my family entered and closed the door to the storm porch made of glass. He teased and tried to scare me, and I hated the night, and from that fear I banged onto the glass window and door. I could see him grinning at me, but that soon disappeared. When I banged the small window to the side of the door, it had cracked and pieces of glass broke away. The fear of the night disappeared for an instant as my father opened the door and all I could feel was stinging sensation that was on my face. I had been punched and I fell from the steps to of the porch to the grass ground on my back. My father's angry look was all I could see. His profanity was all I could hear as he entered the house and locked it. I was left to the night. I stood up and walked to the driveway as the sounds of my father's voice started to fade away with each step. Tears started to roll down my eyes and I found myself at the curb in front of our house. I felt something wet on my hand and I looked down to the hand where I broke the glass window. It was dripping blood. It must've been cut when I broke the window I suppose. For an hour, I was left there. I saw a couple pass by, looking and staring, wondering what was wrong. But no one asked or helped. For all they know, I could've been a lost child, but no one did stop to ask. They went on their way as if I was insignificant. My fear of the night disappeared that day. The night I had once feared became the only shelter I had at the moment.

As I stood at the curb, I felt as if no one cared, and no one did. If they did, surely they would not leave a child in the night. Surely they wouldn't allow him to go, injuries unattended. So I took my first steps towards the street where they said I shouldn't play in during the day. I wondered if it would be anymore dangerous at night. I walked along the road and down towards a nearby park that I knew of. There in the middle of the park was a slide, swings and a sandbox, one that you would usually see for small children. I sat on the bench that was a few feet away from it all. Fortunately it was summer, so the night air was cool. Maybe it was that time that this feeling was born. Maybe I was too young to understand that the world was really cruel as they say. But from those dark thoughts in the back of my mind it must've attracted this presence, because I felt a cold touch on my shoulder as I sat on that bench, though no one was around me. And as I felt that cold hand on my shoulder, I felt my spine shudder and I fell asleep.

I awoke to find myself on the front lawn of my house. It was still night. I didn't know how long I was out, but it didn't seem that long nor did I know how I got there. My mother eventually got me inside the house that night, my father, still cursing and watching television. My brother was asleep. My hand was given a band-aid and I was led to bed. In my bed, I bathed in the dark thoughts that began to torment me. How could no one defend me? How could they just let me be? Was it really my fault? With those thoughts, I turned to the only thing that I thought I saw and what I thought was my protector. A person in a shroud of darkness standing next to my bed, his hand slowly creeping up and reaching for my shoulder…

I was finally able to break away from the gaze of the dead woman who lay at the top of the stairs and I started to make my way towards the kitchen. The kitchen was untouched by the dark deeds that have been committed tonight. The white tiles reflected back what little light that shone into the room. I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it with my gloved hands. It was full of groceries of course. Milk, eggs, some vegetables, condiments, and what looked to be a few raw steaks. No doubt it was meant to be tomorrow's dinner. Looks like they'll never have it, I thought. I saw a juice box and grabbed it. Grape, a good flavour. I haven't tasted grape juice in a long time, I thought. I then walked over to the living room. The TV was still on and was the only major source of light. I sat on a couch that was to its left. I couldn't take a seat on the recliner that was placed in front of the TV because it was already occupied by what was once a man but now a corpse. His eyelids were sliced off almost surgically. His arms, legs and head were tied down to the chair. What killed him? Well, there was a large gash from the top of his chest down to his gut. A vertical cut. Not only that, but the cut seemed to have been forcefully pulled out as his ribs sprang outward, exposing his vital organs. His intestines hung well below him and most of it touched the floor in front of him of where he sat. I took a sip of grape juice as I stared at him. He still looked as if he was alive, but he was surely dead. His heart was exposed and it wasn't beating. I turned my head to see what was the last thing this man saw. It was the TV, right now playing an infomercial. Usually they played those things late night or during daytime television. I looked back at the man and my mind began to wander to memories that I could never forget.

My father watched the television as I glanced at him from the other side of the room. The volume was turned a bit too high, and that's pretty much all he did on his free time. Occasionally he would do something around the house, but all that seemed to do was make it worse. An even simple task like washing the dishes makes things a bit worse. They would always smell of wet cloth, as if no soap was used. This particular day, he wanted nothing to do but to watch television. I decided to play with my brother today in the basement. Things were fine until my little brother hit me and my lip started bleeding. Out of that, I started to tell him that I was going to tell dad about it. My father was known for smacking us around. My brother of course started to cry. My father came down because of all the commotion and saw that my brother was crying. And so he assumed that I had harmed him, and I was punished with a smack to the head. Anger boiled inside me again. My brother was not harmed, but he was fearful of how he would be harmed by my father.

To me, it seemed as if he just wanted to take care of one problem just to watch his shows. It was as if he didn't care what we were up to or what we were doing, as long as nothing bothered him and he could continue on watching other people's fictional lives, then it didn't matter to him. Thoughts of hatred and anger were enough to drown out any feelings I had toward my father and wished for his death to swiftly take him.

When self-pity subsided, I went upstairs. I proceeded to walk up the stairs to the second floor, only stopping halfway to stare at my father, who was once again glued to the television. My hatred boiled within me and my anger flared whenever I saw him again in my life. When it came to his last days, I knew I would have felt nothing for him.

I slowly got up from the couch and started to walk towards the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard, grape juice box in hand. I slowly opened the sliding door, and stepped out, closing it silently behind me. The stars were hardly visible tonight because of the clouds, but I still looked up. I then headed towards the wooden fence door, opened and closed it, and started to walk out into the night with one hand in my pocket of my long black jacket and the other holding the grape juice box, drinking it's little straw as I walked along the dark alley in between the houses. Like the night those ten years ago, I was never afraid of the dark, the night or the creatures that dwelled in it. It died along with that innocent boy that day. I was also given the company of the reaper, who I could tell was still following behind me. I wondered if it was a curse or a gift that led him to me. I also wondered if when he was going to take my life next….


End file.
